


A Just So Story

by Rii



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Inspired By Tumblr, Messing With Hannibal, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 20:51:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1402027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rii/pseuds/Rii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham asks Beverly Katz to send Hannibal Lecter a message.  That message is, "I love imagining you suffer in the smallest of ways."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Just So Story

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Season 2, Episodes 4 (Takiawase) and 5 (Mokozuke). Otherwise pretty harmless.
> 
> Inspired by this post on Tumbr: http://pyjamazombie.tumblr.com/post/80882865895/haanigram-perfectionism-wheres-the-fic

“I need you to do just one thing for me.”

Beverly had almost made it to the exit of the prison when Will spoke again.

“If you need to… make sure.”

“Make sure of what?”

“Hannibal Lecter.”

She crossed her arms, and her mouth tried to be sympathetic in its slant.  “Will…”

“Even if you find nothing, just… do this.  For me.”

“What do you need me to do?”

Will told her.

Beverly furrowed her brow as she worked her mind over the request.  “And… why do you want me to do this?”

“Be thorough.”

“Will…”  She turned to leave again.

“It’ll be a message from me.  He’ll know what it means.”

Beverly threw her arms up slightly.  “No guarantees, Will.”

Even so, as she moved carefully and quietly through Hannibal Lecter’s residence, a time later, she did things that weren’t necessary, but…

Well, Will had asked for them, and it was the least she could do.

For if she didn’t find anything.

When she checked the journals in the shelves of his living room - flipping through them, more than anything - she noticed that they were alphabetized.

“Hm.”  She snapped a folder closed with a papery huff.  “Y’know, why not?”

* * *

As Hannibal Lecter moved to inspect his home, to preserve its integrity, following the disposal and display of one Ms. Beverly Katz, he found things were amiss.

As expected, yes, there was a fine and well-preserved kidney that needed to be returned to his refrigerator.  Wasted food was almost a sin, after all.  Everything further he had kept isolated and cleaned in his usual way.

But in the light of day, he noticed things.

His Bouchard in the dining room of Leda and the Swan had been hung.  Unevenly.

Salt had been put.  In a pepper grinder.  Which he did not notice until he had to make use of it for his morning omelette.

His favorite chair was.  Out of place.  In deference to the ottoman beside it.  So he could not put his feet up as he pleased.

And his books. Were.  Out.  Of.  Order.

“You have been a very naughty girl, Ms. Katz,” he said, almost grumbling, as he rolled up his sleeves, and returned his furniture to the proper position.  “Wasn’t enough just to investigate me, was it?  Such a troublemaker.”

And Beverly Katz, in the somewhere just parallel to his, gave him a tall and enthusiastic middle finger salute, and watched him fuss for hours over the placement of everything she had touched and hadn’t touched.

“I think he got your message, Will,” she said to herself.

Will, in solitary, wondered why he suddenly felt like laughing, if only for a moment.

 


End file.
